Mine is Yours
by lizzagna
Summary: There's something in the way Eames looks at him, with a mixture of fascination and intensity and amusement, that's so familiar and appealing to Arthur's competitive nature. And Arthur grumbles to himself as he rises to the challenge and grabs his coat.


**A/N:** This one-shot has taken me several weeks to write. Mostly because I wrote it in parts whenever I was feeling a little blocked (Arthur and Eames come naturally). So each snippet is actually its own drabble I combined and edited into this. Please let me know what you think!

Rated T for language, let me know if that's an appropriate rating because I never am able to sort one out on my own.

* * *

><p>When Cobb announces he's re-hired Eames, Arthur lets out a very strangled noise in an attempt to conceal his horror. He goes back to work, only half-listening to Cobb fill in Nash on the details of Eames' work history because Arthur already knows all of it and <em>fuck<em>, has it really been three years?

"When will he arrive?" Nash asks, briefly looking up from one of his models (a hospital that will later include a very familiar nurse named Mal who is more than handy with a scalpel, thanks to Cobb).

Cobb explains that he will have to retrieve the forger from a village in Italy, just outside of Florence, and Arthur barely bites back a nasty outburst.

"He's the best of the best," Cobb reminds Arthur a little stiffly.

"You haven no evidence to back your claim," Arthur replies to Cobb's retreating back.

Nash drops his model and turns to share his excitement over the new team member he's never met, but Arthur isn't one for sharing emotions and he _isn't excited at all_, so he easily brushes off Nash's attempts at conversation—you think the architect would know by now—and moves to his desk to see if the background checks are in.

Nash babbles on about how he wishes Cobb would hire a woman as a forger because no offense, Arthur and Cobb just don't do anything for him (Arthur pretends to be a little offended). Nash creates several excuses for Eames' absence; a spiel of family emergencies ranging from death to the crash of the family business, MI6 on his tail, a stint in the military, and the list continues as such.

Arthur thinks this is all very well and adorable and doesn't even pause to think about Eames' sudden decision to leave the team because the last time Arthur saw the forger was the night they were in Progreso, and Arthur doesn't like to think about Progreso at all.

Cobb is gone nearly a month. When he returns, Arthur has been to London and back in a sore attempt to clear his mind, and Nash is already back from Luxembourg with a newly updated PASIV.

"I present Mr. Eames," Cobb says with a bit of grandeur that Arthur notes Dom probably picked up from the forger.

"Charmed," The forger says in his thick English accent, heartily shaking hands with a jumpy albeit disappointed Nash. He sizes up Arthur and grins easily, carelessly, endearingly. Arthur observes this with uncertainty and a little bit of dread. "Long time no see, eh, _darling_?"

Arthur is disgusted and intrigued and incredibly flustered but still manages to ground out a hello and give a firm hand shake. He moves back to his desk that will for the next few weeks—as Eames pokes and prods into the point man's personal affairs—become Arthur's sanctuary.

Cobb suggests a dinner to get them all acquainted again, and Eames heartily agrees, playfully asking if Arthur can pull that stick out of his ass just enough for one relaxing evening. Cobb clears his throat with one deadly glare from Arthur and makes excuses for his point man, his friend, and Arthur relaxes into his chair.

Nash hops to his feet and grabs his coat, already rattling off a list of fine cafes and restaurants and bars, but Eames waves his hand and claims he knows the perfect place but _insists_ that Arthur join them or the evening will be for naught.

There's something in the way the forger looks at him, with a mixture of fascination and intensity and amusement, that's so familiar and challenging and appealing to Arthur's competitive nature. And Arthur grumbles to himself as he rises to the challenge and grabs his own coat, ignoring the spark that ignites in his stomach when Eames guides him to the elevator with his hand on Arthur's lower back.

**/**

Arthur remembers the first time he worked with Eames. He was sure the forger would fail in their first extraction together. He was—_is_—everything Arthur detests, careless, unkempt, spontaneous, too casual in the way he works. Eames seemed the type to joke in the midst of a serious heist, and Arthur could leave no room for spontaneity or ill-timed jokes.

"Don't worry, _mon abeille_," Mal had said with a smile. Her busy bee, she called him. She went under shortly before Arthur did, and his worry did not lessen any.

It turned out Eames was very good at his job. He was rough around the edges for sure, but Arthur must give credit where credit is due. Eames knew what he was doing and, surprisingly, didn't leave much room for error.

When the job became a bit more dangerous than they had expected and Eames saved Mal's life more than once, Cobb and Mal were instantly won over by the forger.

And as much as Arthur hates to admit it, Eames gained a little more of his respect.

This time Mal's gone, but they still fall into old patterns. "Loosen up, love," Eames says as Arthur hooks him up to the PASIV. He grins unabashedly as the point man scowls, and he thwacks Arthur gently under the chin before the sedation takes hold.

Arthur expects Eames' top notch work and the job goes easily for the first few minutes they're under. Then everything goes wrong when Mal shows up—Cobb is not prepared for this, Arthur is not prepared for this, and Eames least of all when he is stabbed in the left shoulder with a scalpel.

"Bloody hell," Eames mutters as he wrenches the knife out and kicks Mal to the floor.

Arthur doesn't miss the recognition in Eames' eyes as he gasps Mal's name. But there's no time to get him up to speed, and Arthur grabs the forger and they run down the hallway, Arthur firing haplessly behind him because he doesn't _really_ want to hit Mal and Eames clutching his shoulder and spewing curses and asking _what is she doing here?_

"She's just a projection," Arthur assures Eames as they hustle towards the residents' offices where they're supposed to meet Cobb. They slow down and duck into a vending machine nook and Arthur takes a look at his shoulder.

Eames is shaking and bleeding and Mal's name is on his lips and all in all he's a bit of a wreck, so Arthur does the only thing he can think of. He pulls out his Magnum, ready to give Eames the kick, but the forger clutches his arm and lets out a breathy chuckle.

"I know you'd love to shoot me, Arthur," He says through clenched teeth, "but I've got a job to do."

"Can you handle it?"

Eames smiles stiffly. "'Course I can, darling."

Arthur stares after him as Eames gently pries himself free of Arthur's iron grip and marches into the office, already forged into a blank-faced RN.

The job gets done in record time, albeit messily, and Arthur explodes the minute they all regain consciousness inside the doctor's private office.

"Dom!" He roars, and Nash cowers behind the large oak desk next to the sleeping mark because when Arthur loses it, he loses it _bad_.

The extractor gets up calmly, toe to toe with Arthur who is at least a good head taller than his boss. Arthur is seething and lets loose. He states facts, logical, solid facts: this is the fourth heist in a row that Mal—_Cobb_—has nearly screwed up, and they can't afford to mess around in this business and Arthur thought Cobb knew that when they signed up for this job and _did you know she stabbed Eames?_

Arthur finishes with an empty threat to quit if Mal appears again and packs up the PASIV. He ignores Cobb's angry exit (followed quickly by a jumpy Nash) and picks up the aluminum briefcase.

"Arthur, _darling—_"

Arthur looks up at the forger, still a little angry but mostly just embarrassed at his outburst. "You don't deserve to get stabbed every time we go under. You didn't sign up for that."

Eames smiles but it's kind of sad and condescending, at least enough to make Arthur angry again. But before he can take the PASIV and leave, Eames puts a hand on his arm. "'S not all bad, love."

"I don't see how getting stabbed with surgical instruments by your boss's dead wife qualifies as _not all bad._"

Eames laughs, most likely at Arthur's terrible English accent. He swoops in and pecks Arthur on the lips before saying, "How about you make it up to me over drinks, hmm?"

Arthur is so stunned by the kiss he finds himself saying yes. And when Eames throws an arm around his neck and practically nuzzles his ear the point man finds he doesn't mind all that much.

**/**

Arthur notices that somewhere between the first job (with Mal's expert guidance and Nash's impressive architecture) and the seventh (Eames' first encounter with Mal's projection), he and Eames have become a sort of team. Architects and chemists come and go like clockwork, occasionally Nash joins up again, but in the end it's always Arthur and Eames.

They have a routine that has never once been broken. They find a job, they do the heist, and then they go for drinks afterward. Eames gets a little too close (Arthur doesn't _mind_ the way the forger whispers in his ear but it certainly is unnerving) or a little too personal (_what's your family like?_) and Arthur pretends to be too drunk to notice or answer.

After the fourth job (a particularly successful heist involving a debt collector's vendetta), they are leaving a bar in Progreso, Mexico when Eames kisses him.

"Bet I can make your night, love," Eames says after they've both had more than their share of tequila.

"Doubt it," Arthur says but it's such a ridiculous lie he's sure Eames can see straight through it. So he covers up with, "Did anyone ever tell you your pick-up lines are terrible when you're drunk?"

"Yes, in fact, multitudes of women," Eames says teasingly.

"My jealousy knows no bounds," Arthur says, his sarcasm lacking in its effort.

Eames grins cheekily and before the point man can argue he leans over and presses his lips to Arthur's.

The kiss is sloppy and fumbling and their lips don't quite line up right. Eames is a little too drunk, but Arthur can't help grabbing fistfuls of the forger's shirt because _he is kissing Eames_ and nothing else even seems _relevant_.

"_Darling_," Eames slurs against Arthur's lips, and he tastes like cheap alcohol and that spearmint gum he's always chewing and Arthur _loves_ it. "Let's go somewhere,"

_Christ_, Arthur thinks. They're in a bumblefuck little tourist town on the coast of Mexico, and there was definitely something extra in Arthur's drinks because he _wants _to go somewhere with Eames.

Eames leads him back to their hotel, and Arthur barely manages to get his key in the door when Eames jumps him. They stumble back towards the bed that Arthur thought was too firm but now seems _just right_, all the while Eames is kissing him _everywhere_.

For a split second, Arthur panics and fumbles around in his pocket until his fingers touch the loaded die, but he's too drunk to even care if this is real.

Eames unzips Arthur's designer slacks and smiles as he drags his mouth to the point man's chest, to his stomach, and finally to his cock. "If you could manage to relax, _darling_..."

He doesn't finish and he doesn't need to, really, because Arthur is more than relaxed by the time Eames is finished with him. They're lying together, tangled and sweaty and their breathing starting to slow when Eames asks, "You missed me, didn't you, love?"

Arthur says no almost as a matter of principle.

"Liar," Eames says into the top of Arthur's head.

"Don't flatter yourself," Arthur replies, but he blushes anyway.

**/**

They don't really live together, but it just seemed impractical for Eames to rent an apartment when he spent all his time at Arthur's place and pay for a parking spot on the street when Arthur had a perfectly good two car garage. And eventually Eames' bizarre clothing found its way into Arthur's closet space, neatly pressed suits pushed aside to make room, and Eames has infiltrated the kitchen because Arthur really is shit at cooking.

And to Arthur it feels strangely like home. Even if Eames leaves clothes strewn everywhere and dishes pile up in the sink and Eames has never paid taxes in his _life _so Arthur has to take over both their finances.

Eames comes home with a Ferrari one day. "It's used," He says. "Bought it off a chap in Newport this morning."

"Don't you already own a plethora of expensive cars?" Arthur asks.

"You can never have too many, darling," Eames says with a dreamy sigh.

Arthur shakes his head and leaves Eames to most likely fornicate with his new vehicle that isn't even _new_.

Some time the next week as Arthur's getting the paper, Eames pulls into the driveway in another Ferrari with no plates and a sales sticker still taped to the inside back window.

"Christ," Arthur says, looking between the two identical cars.

"This one _is_ new," Eames says proudly, coming to stand beside the point man. He crosses his arms and grins. "Did you know to purchase a new Ferarri, you have to own one already?"

"That's ridiculous," Arthur says but doesn't argue. "So are you going to sell the old one?"

"No," Eames replies, his eyes glued to the cars. "Keeping both, most likely. I figure you can park the Audi in the driveway."

Arthur whacks Eames with the newspaper hard enough to receive a yelp. As he walks back into the house he hears, "Fine, I suppose the used one can sit out!"

**/**

About a year after the Saito job, Eames is fiddling with a very expensive-looking blade that redefines the word _pocket-knife_ and watching the History Channel while making snarky (and less than teasing) comments about Arthur's preference of Bernadette over Barbra, and Arthur subtly tunes him out and reads a bit of Ted Hughes out of the paperback he found behind the couch.

They're both still on edge—and probably will be for quite some time—and it's been a testy seven days since their last unfortunate job. They've ordered take-out every night this week at Arthur's request even though chicken lo mein once a _decade_ is more than enough for Eames.

"We're not having Chinese again, Arthur," Eames scolds. "Do you want diabetes before you're forty?"

Arthur grumbles something about stupid Brits under his breath and Eames kicks him with a socked foot. "Fine, I'll make pizza."

But Eames' legs are stretched across Arthur's lap before he can even push himself off the couch, and Eames says, "Sorry, love, can't have you burning down our house now, can I?"

It's the way he says _our _that makes Arthur's breathing hitch and the rest of his argument dies in his throat. He looks up from the yellowing pages of Ted Hughes, his mouth gaping. He sputters for words and this should be a monumental moment but it's _them_, for fuck's sake.

There are wet towels on the bathroom floor that Eames can't seem to hang up and cookware in the kitchen that also belongs to the forger and Arthur is pretty sure he hasn't bought _half_ the books stacked on the shelves they put up when Arthur got tired of tripping over piles. Because Eames pulled in a coffee table when Arthur's fell to pieces and there are fucking curtains they picked out _together _(Eames definitely won _that _argument).

And it's not so much Eames living in Arthur's house anymore as it is _theirs_.

"_Eames_," Arthur nearly chokes. "Eames, I fucking love you."

"Mmm," Eames hums in reply, his eyes glued to the TV, face blank, and he rubs his foot across Arthur's thigh. "I love you as well, darling."

Arthur looks down at his book, almost satisfied, because he catches the briefest of grins, genuine and toothy and incredibly Eames. The forger toes him in the shoulder and grumbles something like _a matter of principle, you asshole_.

He orders the bloody chicken lo mein and assaults Arthur the second he hangs up the phone. When the doorbell rings thirty minutes later Arthur makes Eames answer it, and since the forger has absolutely no shame he doesn't even bother to get dressed, just grabs a throw pillow and covers his parts.

The delivery guy stutters that he can't break a hundred and Eames says, "Bugger, keep the change then," and slams the door shut.

"You just gave the delivery guy a 120-percent tip," Arthur observes, his face expressionless, but he's already growing hard.

Eames drops the bag of food and the pillow and marches back over to the couch, throwing himself on top of Arthur in a way that cuts off Arthur's air supply before the forger says, "There are urgent matters I need to attend to, and I can assure you they don't involve chicken lo mein."

Arthur grins against his lips and murmurs, "I love you."

"You already told me," Eames says but he sounds pleased, nevertheless.

_Worth reiterating_, Arthur thinks as Eames kisses him once more.


End file.
